


Bring Out Your Dead

by Grundy



Series: Daughters of Celebrían [10]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, House of Finwë - Freeform, return from the Halls of Mandos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2018-12-12 15:01:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11739474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Tindomiel brought two Finwions out of the Halls who have been there for a while. Things may not run as smoothly as she expects...





	1. Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> This follows immediately from Breaking Into Mandos, but as the action is likely to be almost exclusively outside the Halls and I expect several chapters yet, it seemed better to put it as a separate story.

“So,” Tindomiel said hopefully, looking around at all three of her kinsmen, “we don’t actually have to mention that part about me being your security to my parents, right? I mean, especially not my dad...”

Glancing from one child to the other, Carnistir noticed Anairon looked a little taken aback.

He looked to his cousin – to the cousin he knew best, that was – and found that Aikanaro didn’t appear to be following the conversation at all, simply staring up into the sky with a bemused look on his face. From his attitude, it was entirely possible he hadn’t even registered Tindomiel’s words at all.

While Carnistir would be the first to admit that he and his uncle Arafinwë’s younger sons clashed as often as not, he still cared about his cousin, and he found his current behavior somewhat worrying.

He sighed.

One problem at a time.

Also, being a grown-up was shaping up to be just as much non-fun in this life as it had been in the last one.

“We will _absolutely_ be mentioning that part to your parents,” he said firmly. “I doubt I would appreciate another adult covering up something so significant about my child if I were in your father’s place.”

Tindomiel’s shoulders sagged, and Carnistir now wondered what the girl had been used to in Endorë that such a request seemed in any way reasonable to her.

“Erestor wouldn’t have done anything so risky in the first place,” she muttered mulishly.

“Who is Erestor?” Carnistir asked, keeping a watchful eye on Aiko.

“Your son!” Tindomiel snapped, crossing her arms and glaring at him.

He blinked.

He had named his only child Mírifinwë, neatly combining his grandparents’ names with a meaning that conveyed his feelings about the child he’d already known at the time of his birth would have to be sent to Círdan for his own protection. It had also been pleasantly similar to his own name – much as that had amused his wife, who’d had a good laugh at the idea that he would name his son Mírifinwë Morifinwion until he had loftily informed her he had thought Carnistirion sounded better.

While he’d had to leave his boy nameless at the Falas – it would be useless trying to spare his son the shame and judgement that would be his lot as a child of the House of Fëanor with a name that clearly marked him as such – he had expected that Círdan or whichever of his people ended up fostering the child would give him a sensible name. A _good_ name. A name that didn’t rub it in that he’d been abandoned.

“Who gave him such an awful name?” he asked distractedly, trying to squash down the painful questions the name raised. “Nevermind. Not important right now.”

He could see the girl ready to explode at him, and for all her face was entirely Aunt Anairë, her attitude was more like Tyelko or Aryo. (He doubted she’d appreciate the comparison. To Tyelko, at least. He had no idea what she knew or thought about Uncle Nolo’s youngest son. _Second_ youngest. Blast. This was going to be confusing.)

Fortunately, he had a slightly more together cousin present.

“Tinwë,” Anairon interrupted quietly before she could actually let fly.

He nodded toward Aikanaro, and she visibly deflated.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked in an anxious undertone. “He wasn’t like this when I talked to him in the Halls before.”

“Did you warn him you meant to return him to living?” Carnistir asked, recalling some of Ambarussa and Irissë’s ‘plans’, not to mention Tyelko’s. The girl clearly hadn’t inherited Artanis’ natural tendency to think things through before acting.

She shook her head.

“No, I didn’t want him to start arguing about why he should stay in there meditating on love and loss or whatever else he’s been doing with his time while refusing to return.”

Carnistir took a deep breath. Given some of his own mistakes, this one was minor by comparison. And it involved restoring life, not taking it. The child’s heart was in the right place, even if the method had been too abrupt.

“Aikanaro?” he asked gently. “Aiko!”

The two young ones seemed to realize it would be better to let him take the lead.

He had to repeat his cousin’s name several more times before he got any response.

“Moryo?” Aiko replied, sounding confused. “Where are we? How did we get here?”

“We are in Aman, Aiko, somewhere in the northwest. As for how, that’s a question for Tindomiel, if she feels like explaining,” he replied.

She had the grace to blush.

“I brought you out of the Halls,” she said, as if that explained anything at all. “Back to the living. Your parents and brother and sister miss you, you know.”

“My sister is in Endorë,” Aikanaro said, sounding not quite wholly present.

“No, she’s in Tirion,” Anairon told him gently. “With your parents. At least, she was when we left the city. But she’s definitely not in Endorë. Not anymore.”

Aiko appeared to focus properly on the two youngsters for the first time.

“Aryo?” he asked uncertainly, looking at Anairon’s face.

“No, this is Aryo’s little brother,” Carnistir broke in. “Anairon.”

“Oh,” Aiko said. He paused for a moment, then asked, “what do we call him?”

Given how quickly Anairon clapped a hand over Tindomiel’s mouth, she must have had several interesting suggestions at the ready. Carnistir made a mental note to ask her later, when she’d gotten over the urge to do damage to him on his son’s behalf.

“I don’t know,” Carnistir replied. “I just met him a few minutes before you did. He only recently came of age, born after Uncle Nolo left the Halls.”

“These two grew up by themselves?” Aiko asked, looking upset.

“Actually, I wasn’t born in Aman,” Tindomiel clarified. “I only sailed with my parents after Sauron was defeated for keeps.”

Carnistir suppressed another sigh. He could see that Aiko was even more distressed at the idea of their youngest cousin growing up alone. Two children on opposite sides of the Sea was so much less than they had known as grandsons of Finwë.

“We’re the same age, though,” Anairon told them. “She was begotten at the same time as me, just on the other side of the Sea.”

“She is not your sister?”

Anairon looked to Tindomiel, who had an expression of consternation on her face.

“No,” she said firmly. “I have two brothers of my own, you don’t need to borrow me any. I’m Tindomiel Celebríaniel, remember? Galadriel’s granddaughter – your grandniece!”

“Galadriel…” Aiko murmured, sounding confused.

Carnistir was beginning to wonder if his cousin’s disorientation was entirely due to lack of warning about leaving the Halls, or if he had been paying attention to anything beyond his love and loss of Andreth since his death.

He himself had long hoped to hear something, anything, of his son. Without that to focus on, and his brothers looking after him, he might well have been just as out of it as Aiko…

No, that wasn’t true. His brothers wouldn’t have allowed it. But Ingo hadn’t stayed to take care of Aiko, and Ango hadn’t been able to do it alone. Artë had never come to the Halls. He wondered what she would have to say to her granddaughter.

“Artanis decided she preferred the name her husband gave her, remember?” Carnistir prodded. “She married Celeborn of Doriath.”

Aiko nodded uncertainly.

“I did not know they had children,” he said, peering intently at Tindomiel.

Carnistir decided this was an encouraging sign.

“One child,” Tindomiel corrected. “Celebrían. My mother.”

Now that she finally had his full attention, Aiko seemed keen to place her properly.

“And who is your father?” he asked, his voice growing more certain.

“Elrond Eärendilion,” Tindomiel answered, looking relieved that the conversation seemed to be improving.

“Elrond is the grandson of Itarillë,” Anairon put in. “I do not think Eärendil her son was begotten before your death, cousin.”

No, he hadn’t been. There hadn’t been any half-elven in Arda at the time of the Sudden Flame – at least, not that anyone knew of.  Then again, it was probably best to leave the whole issue of the half-elven until Aiko was more firmly in the world. And perhaps it would be fair to give Ingo fair warning first. He rather doubted Aiko was going to be happy with his older brother when he discovered just how many peredhil there were.

Come to that, Aiko might be a little upset with _him_ when he figured out the connection Tindomiel had already made.

Carnistir was just about to suggest they sit down and eat something when two younger girls came pelting out of the nearby grove, one blonde, the other with blazing red hair.

“You did it – wait, you brought _two_ of them!” the one in the lead said excitedly.

Her companion yelped and pulled her back the second her eyes lit on Carnistir. He had apparently been recognized. It didn’t bode well for how his return to Tirion was going to go – or his reunion with his extended family, for that matter.

“Tinu, are you _crazy_?” she demanded.

“Finally, a sensible one,” Carnistir muttered.

The redhead glared at him, but the blonde intervened before she could say anything.

“I’m sure Tinu had a good reason for bringing back Cousin Morifinwë,” she said in a tone that was more hope than confidence.

“Of course I had a good reason!” Tindomiel huffed indignantly, looking insulted.

“Moryo, did your parents also have another child?” Aiko asked in confusion.

Tindomiel giggled, Anairon smiled, and the blonde stifled a snicker as the other girl’s glare swung from Carnistir to Aikanaro.

Carnistir easily forgave the ridiculous question, for while the blonde looked like enough to Lauro that he could not tell if she was his daughter or his much younger sister, the redhead would not look out of place at a gathering of his mother’s family.

“I doubt it, Aiko, my father is still in the Halls. And I can’t imagine Amil taking up with anyone else. Maybe she’s a cousin. My mother’s parents and their children all stayed behind.”

“Carnistir, Aikanaro, these are our cousins Tasariel and Califiriel,” Anairon said, his cautious tone indicating he fully expected fireworks at any moment.

“A star shines upon this hour,” Carnistir said politely to the two girls before raising an eyebrow at his youngest cousin. “Anairon, would you care to place them in the family tree for us? You gave them no ielessë.”

“Laurefindiel,” both girls replied in unison before Anairon could say a word.

Carnistir raised a brow at that – he was intensely curious to find out how Laurë came to have a flame-haired daughter. He sincerely hoped the girls weren’t his double cousins – that would be complicating the family tree a bit much even for the House of Finwë.

“And you were begotten in Aman, or Endorë?” Aiko asked.

“Endorë,” the blonde replied. “In Imladris, not long before the Ring War.”

“When did Lauro marry?” Carnistir asked, seating himself near the campfire.

He suspected the two girls would be more at their ease if he weren’t towering over them – Aiko didn’t seem to worry them nearly as much, but he rather hoped his cousin would sit also. He didn’t look overly steady on his feet. It would also be helpful if Tindomiel or Anairon would make clear which girl answered to which name.

“We hope he will marry soon,” the red-head said, her eyes sparking with mischief.

“Tas!”

Her sister, Tindomiel, and Anairon had all protested.

“Ok, fine, no gossiping,” Tasariel pouted. “I don’t see why not, though, it’s all family here anyway!”

“ _Laurefindil_ of all people begot not one but two children outside of marriage?” Aiko spluttered in shock.

There was a fair bit of uncomfortable shifting around on the part of the younger folk, but Tindomiel’s face was flying warning flags. Remembering how protective Aunt Anairë could be, Carnistir decided it was possible the girl had more than just her looks from her several times great- grandmother.

“You can tell us the long story later,” Carnistir suggested quickly. “Perhaps we should all eat now, and you can tell us a bit about yourselves beyond merely who your parents are. We are all cousins, so it would seem reasonable to get to know each other.”

The girls looked as though they were speaking to each other silently, which was as good as confirmed when Aiko tsk’ed at them reprovingly – not only had the Arafinwions regularly been admonished for such behavior as elflings by both their father and Indis, Aiko was far more likely than Carnistir to be able to hear what the girls were saying to each other.

Califiriel flushed guiltily, but neither Tindomiel or Tasariel looked all that bothered. They did, however, sit.

The younger girls retrieved the potatoes that had been roasting in the ashes of the fire, while Tindomiel brought out bread, jam, and cold ham. Carnistir noticed that Tindomiel had initially reached for something else in her pack, but changed her mind after a furtive glance at Aikanaro.

Well, after three Ages, it was likely there were more than a few new things that would come as surprises to them. Carnistir was encouraged that the girl had sense enough to hold back. Aiko was already overwhelmed as it was. And if he was honest, he himself wasn’t prepared to have several ages of change dumped on him all at once.

Unless it had to do with his son, of course. When it came to Mírifinwë, he was willing to hear his entire life story in one night if any of these children knew enough of him to tell it.


	2. Uncertain

Aikanaro looked around the campfire.

The five people he was eating dinner with were cousins all, but there was only one of them he actually knew.

He was still confused as to how he’d ended up alive again. He was sure he had told Lord Namo several times that he did not wish to return to life. If he couldn’t be with his beloved until the Second Music, it didn’t much matter where he waited for it.  

He vaguely remembered Tindomiel. At least, he thought he did. He’s seen her – or somebody very like her – in the Halls. He’s not sure how she could be in there when she didn’t seem to have ever died.

She was currently alternating between frustrated and attentive – frustrated seemed to be aimed more at Moryo, fortunately. Aikanaro wasn’t ready to deal with anyone being frustrated with him. Everything was already too loud and too bright as it was. Even the girls speaking to each other had sounded like shouting at first, though Moryo hadn’t heard them. (Lucky him.)

He’s not quite certain why Moryo was back as well, though Tindomiel had said something about him having a son. That was odd, because Aikanaro didn’t remember Moryo ever being married.  In fact, he didn’t remember much about Moryo in Beleriand at all beyond him having sent a peace offering and an apology to him and Ango not long before they died.

It seemed a bit silly now to think that they’d been so angry with each other when Morgoth had not yet been defeated.

At least he could trust Moryo to make sure everyone behaved. He was the oldest one now, which ought to please him. He’d almost never been in charge before. Shame, really. He’d been quite good at organizing things when he hadn’t been quarreling with people.

Moryo probably wouldn’t quarrel as much without Tyelko around to put him on edge constantly…

“Who are you?” Aikanaro asked the girl to his right curiously.

The red-head who he still thought might be related to Aunt Nerdanel sighed.

“I’m Tasariel. Laurefindel is my father. And I’m not related to Aunt Nerdanel any more than you are. My mother’s name was Willow and she wasn’t an elf. I’m peredhel. _Please_ try to remember this time?”

The last part was said in a tone that made it sound more like pleading.

“Did I ask you that already?” Aikanaro enquired apologetically.

“Yes,” Tasariel replied.

“Twice, actually,” the girl next to her added. “I’m Califiriel.”

“You are sisters,” he said uncertainly.

He had a vague idea they might have covered this already.

“Yes, we are,” Califiriel said hopefully. “Maybe your memory is starting to work properly again.”

“Willow is your mother,” Aikanaro said, trying to fix the details in his mind.

“Yes,” she agreed.

At the same time, her sister sighed.

 _He’s going to be so confused later,_ Aikanaro heard her tell her sister and Tindomiel.

 _He’s already confused, so it’s best not to add to it right now,_ was Tindomiel’s slightly exasperated reply.

“Has no one told you girls that’s rude?” he asked, nettled. _I can_ hear _you._

He and his brothers and sister had been told about it often enough when they were young.

“Grandmother does from time to time,” Tindomiel said blithely. “But my father and Glorfindel don’t hear as well as she and Grandpa Arafinwë do.”

He had to remind himself that ‘Grandmother’ meant his baby sister.

It was a very strange thought, Artanis having not only a daughter but _grandchildren_. And Tindomiel was the youngest of them! He tried not to ask again when Tindomiel’s mother had been begotten, the niece he had never met. He was sure they’d told him already, if they’d told him who Tarariel’s mother was.

 _My mother is Celebrian,_ Tindomiel offered wryly. _She was begotten early in the Second Age. Grandmother and Grandfather were married in the First Age._

 _Yes, that part I remember,_ Aikanaro replied.

He was perfectly clear on that. Artanis had married not long before Thingol found out about the Kinslaying.

“And Artanis is in Tirion now.”

“Yes,” the girls chorused.

“We think so, anyway,” the boy who was not Arakano amended. “For all we know, she’s gone to visit Grandmother in Valimar, or your other grandparents in Alqualondë. We’ve been gone from Tirion for more than a month now.”

 _He’s Anairon_ , Tindomiel told him helpfully.

 _You don’t have to keep reminding me,_ Aikanaro said, reluctant to admit that her instinct that he didn’t know had been correct.

 _Maybe I don’t_ have _to,_ she replied. _But I kind of feel like I should. At least until you’re surer about everything._

Aikanaro gave the girl a look, but she continued chewing cheerfully on a potato, with an innocent expression that might have fooled anyone who didn’t remember Artë as a child.

Moryo, of course, saw right through it.

“So, Tinwë,” he said. “As this was _your_ plan, what comes next?”

“Um, take you both back to Tirion,” she replied after a hasty swallow that made her great-uncle wince.

Quite aside from his worry that Artanis would blame him if her young granddaughter choked to death in his presence, he felt sure Aunt Anairë must be beside herself about the girl’s manners. And speaking of his aunt, he was curious how it was Artanis’ granddaughter ended up looking so like their aunt rather than their mother.

“Sneak _you_ to Gramma Nerdanel’s, hopefully without half of Tirion noticing, take Aikanaro to Grandma Eärwen and Grandpa Arafinwë, hopefully without the _other_ half of Tirion noticing. And then I’m sure there will be a family dinner with everyone at some point.”

Anairon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘good luck with that’, but Tindomiel affected not to hear.

“That plan involved a lot of _hopefully_ ,” Moryo pointed out dubiously.

Aikanaro had seen plenty of better thought-out plans go wrong. Plans that didn’t rely on _hopefully_ or so many elves not noticing things. Both of them had.

Actually, since Moryo had lived longer, he’d probably gotten to see more plans go wrong…

“Also, there’s another minor problem with that theory, Tinu,” Tasariel pointed out with a grimace.

“Yes,” Califiriel agreed, looking worried. “You have to get him past Ondolindë without Atto or Cousin Turukano noticing. If you were going to do this, it would have been better to… no, that way wouldn’t work either, would it?”

Aikanaro wasn’t sure what the other option would have been, but he got the distinct impression it involved his grand-uncle Thingol.

 _You are NOT going to sneak them by Ondolindë. Atto won’t be fooled for one second, he knows you too well. And you know perfectly well your grandparents will_ all _ask why you didn’t stop to visit on the way back!_

Califiriel and Tasariel’s mental voices sounded so similar he couldn’t tell which girl had spoken, but if Laurë kept as sharp an eye on Tindomiel as he had on Artanis, the odds of her managing her mischief undetected weren’t good. Not to mention, Laurë now had two little mischiefs of his own to look after. Presumably that had sharpened his already well-honed skills.

“Oh, goody,” Moryo said drily, blithely unaware of the silent addendum. “Just the cousin I want to see first.”

“Hey!” Anairon protested, looking hurt.

Aikanaro frowned, because while the boy didn’t use osanwë as readily as the girls, he could hear some of what was going on under the surface, and it implied all was not well in the house of Nolofinwë. He thought for a moment that he should find Finno to talk to him about it, but then he remembered that Finno was still in the Halls. And given the boy’s thoughts, Turvo wouldn’t be any help.

“ _Grown_ cousin,” Moryo hastily amended. “Forgive me, Anairon, but it’s hard to put you in the same group with your older brothers. You’re so young you’re more like a nephew than a cousin. Though I suppose even little Tyelpë is grown.”

Aikanaro winced as the mental atmosphere abruptly took a _very_ upsetting turn. He had no idea what had become of Tyelpë but it seemed certain it hadn’t been anything good.  The expressions on all four children ranged from ‘this is awkward’ to outright horror.

“Let’s cover that topic later,” Tindomiel said slowly. “Focus on the whole ‘getting to Tirion’ thing first.”

 _Without Cousin Turukano having a meltdown_ , one of Laurefindel’s daughters – he rather thought it had been Califiriel – added.

“I don’t see how you’re going to do it,” Anairon said fretfully. “If Itarillë doesn’t know you’re close by, Elenwë surely will.”

Aikanaro frowned. He would have thought Turvo would have gotten over his grudge against their cousins if he had been released from Mandos. He lived, and more importantly, Elenwë lived, so why would he still be so upset?

Maybe Turvo _was_ the problem in the House of Nolofinwë.

 _Not completely, but he’s a large part of it_ , Tindomiel informed him, sounding rather grumpy about it. _Was he this much of a butt when you were all alive the first time?_

Aikanaro wasn’t quite sure how to answer that.

“I don’t see how you’re going to do it either, Tinu,” Tasariel said flatly. “You know perfectly well Cousin Turukano is like every other grandparent – he wants to see you as often as may be.”

“Turvo is a grandparent?” Aikanaro asked in confusion.

“Turukano is _her_ grandparent,” Califiriel explained quietly, indicating Tindomiel, who was still focused on planning with the other two children.

“Anairon could take you two back,” Tindomiel offered, pointing at Laurefindel’s girls, “and I’ll go the long way around with them. You can tell him I ran into other kin and decided to return to Tirion a different way.”

Anairon snorted.

“Because that will fool anyone,” he said. “They’ll ask why you didn’t come. And they’ll want to know who it was you met.”

“Why not?” Tindomiel demanded. “Everyone will think you mean my father’s uncles or some other Sindarin kinfolk. All you have to do is be vague.”

Tasariel rolled her eyes.

“If you haven’t noticed yet, Tinu, your best friend is a lousy storyteller, even when you’re not asking him to actually _lie_ for you. And the King might not notice, but you can bet Itarillë or Tuor will, and they’ll worm the full story out of him.”

“Not to mention the slight detail that to avoid Cousin Turukano, you’ll have to go through Sindarin lands, and _that_ sounds like an even worse idea,” Califiriel added. “If you had to do that with one of Aunt Nerdanel’s sons, you should not have started with Cousin Carnistir.”

 _It’s not like he’s Celegorm!_ was Tindomiel’s silent protest, which led Aikanaro to wonder what Tyelko had done to deserve such particular loathing – and what Carnistir had done that he in particular was not a good one to introduce to the Sindar first.

Tindomiel pouted a bit.

“Fine,” she sighed, turning to Anairon. “ _I’ll_ be the distraction and _you_ can shepherd these two past without stopping.”

“How will that work?” Moryo asked in bemusement.

Aikanaro didn’t like the way that both Tindomiel and Anarion’s minds radiated certainty that it _would_.

“It’ll work because my brother won’t raise a fuss about me not stopping to visit him the way he would for her,” Anairon said, his voice determinedly even. “Elenwë and Itarillë may ask after me, but Turukano won’t. He probably won’t even notice I’m not there.”

 “No,” Aikanaro said suddenly, deciding he did not like that option any better. “We stay together. And if that means we must go to Turukano’s city first to bring our young kinswomen back to their father, that is what we will do. All of us.”

He glanced to Moryo, hoping his older cousin would back him.

Happily, Moryo’s nod of agreement left none of the children any wiggle room.

“Absolutely right, Aiko,” he agreed. “If Turvo doesn’t like me returning, he can get it out of his system right away.”

“But your _mothers_ -” Tindomiel protested, looking put out.

“Have both waited two ages for our return, so I do not imagine a few days more one way or the other will destroy them,” Moryo cut her off briskly. “Unless you have been foolish enough to tell them what you intended, our coming is unlooked for, so they will not even be aware that they are being deprived of our presence.”

Aikanaro rather suspected his father might already have some inkling of what was going on, and couldn’t imagine Aunt Nerdanel failing to notice the return of the first of her sons, but it didn’t seem helpful to say so when all four children already looked less than enthusiastic about the adults’ plan.

He raised an eyebrow at Tindomiel, who he was sure by now was the one who was most adept at osanwë.

In return, he had the mental impression of a shrug.

 _It’s_ your _return from the dead. If you want to spend your first days back hearing Turukano rant about kinslayers, that’s on you two,_ she said flatly.

 _If he is still ranting all this time later, then perhaps this is needful,_ Aikanaro reproved her. _We are not supposed to be returned to life before we have healed from the hurts of our past. What I have heard does not sound at all as if Turvo is healed._

She snorted.

 _‘Turvo’ is what we would have called a ‘mess’ in California_ , Tindomiel said. _I was going to let my sister deal with him whenever she gets here._

There was an undertone to that which suggested Turvo had done something which had upset or possibly hurt her sister, despite there being more than a full Age between his death and her begetting.

Somehow Aikanaro didn’t think that plan was the best way for his cousin to heal.

 _You call him grandfather,_ Aikanaro said tentatively.

 _My father’s father Eärendil is the son of Turukano’s daughter Itarillë_ , Tindomiel replied immediately. _I thought we told you that already_.

 _Maybe you did. My mind is getting clearer,_ Aikanaro said mildly.

 _And, um, this might be a sensitive subject_ , the girl added tentatively.

Aikanaro raised an eyebrow.

 _We’re peredhil too_ , she said in a rush that seemed to be born of wanting to get the worst over with. _It’s not just Cali and Tas. Me and my siblings and our father and his brother and their parents Eärendil and Elwing._

Aikanaro blinked in surprise. Half-elven? He recalled his cousin Luthien – and remembered hearing in the Halls that his brother had died helping her would-be husband, a…

 _Man_ , Tindomiel finished quietly. _Luthien’s not the only one. Itarillë married a Man, too._

Aikanaro blinked.

Finderato had been so _wrong_! He _could_ have married Andreth, they might have had _children_.

 _Yeah, my sister dubbed him Finderato Of the Crap Advice_ , Tindomiel said, somewhere between contrite and nervous. _It’s generally agreed that he should not be asked for his opinion on matters of romance or fate. He’s not exactly batting a thousand._

Aikanaro didn’t understand the batting part, but he did grasp that the girl seemed to be sympathetic to his suppressed anger at his oldest brother’s advice.

 _You can call him that, if you want,_ Tindomiel offered. _He’ll know you heard it from me. He’s a little exasperated by the name, but Grandmother pointed out he can’t really argue about its general accuracy._

 _Artanis has already taken him to task?_ Aikanaro asked.

That was something of a relief. If Artë had told him he was in the wrong, Ingo was far more likely to listen than he was if his little brother said it.

 _Several times. I don’t imagine it helps much, but he does feel_ really _badly about it_ , Tindomiel said quietly. _He also knows there’s no way for either of you to fix it now. So he’s going to be relieved to see you outside the Halls, but probably pretty nervous about what you’re going to say to him._

Aikanaro was a little nervous about what he’d say to his brother as well.

 _Don’t hold back,_ Tindomiel advised. _No, seriously. Get it all off your chest. I’d be furious if I were you._


	3. A New Day

Carnistir was somewhat surprised to wake refreshed in the morning, with vague memories of pleasant dreams. Given how he had been returned to life, he hadn’t really expected Lord Irmo to be so kind.

He looked around the campsite.

Aiko, he was relieved to see, was sleeping peacefully. Carnistir meant to keep a close eye on his younger cousin. Aiko had been very thoughtful after dinner last night, but not nearly as distracted as he’d been earlier in the day. He’d kept glancing at the three girls, and every so often sneaking a furtive look at Carnistir as well.

The two younger girls were still asleep as well, curled up next to each other in a way that reminded him of Ambarussa as children.

Tindomiel was nowhere to be seen, which worried him until he recalled that they were home, not in Beleriand. Home was _safe_ , and children could wander here without fear. No orcs, no balrogs, no dragons, no Sauron, no Morgoth.

Young Anairon was toasting some bread and cheese over the fire, and making a good effort at keeping quiet.

He nearly dropped his toast when Carnistir settled next to him.

“Good morning!” he squeaked.

Happy as he was at the chance of life, and of knowing his son, Carnistir couldn’t help thinking that if Tindomiel was so determined to take an active hand in returning her kin from the Halls, she might have done better to start by dragging Aryo out. Anairon needed an older brother – one who was around to _be_ a brother and not wholly absorbed in running his own city.

Or maybe just one who took an interest, Carnistir realized, recalling with a pang how the boy had brightened at his eldest brother’s obvious affection. Finno had always had an open heart. A boy couldn’t ask for a better older brother – well, a boy with Nolofinwë for a father, at least. Carnistir was privately certain that Maitimo was still the _best_ older brother.

“Good morning, Anairon,” Carnistir replied, slicing a bit of bread for himself and spearing it with a stick to toast. “Where is your partner in crime?”

Anairon nodded towards a copse of trees not far distant.

“She went to pick some fruit, so there’d be more for breakfast than just toast or the same as dinner,” he explained.

“Why did you not go with her?” Carnistir asked, seeing that the girl hadn’t even taken a pack. “Surely it would be easier for two to carry enough fruit for all than one.”

“She and Tas and Cali don’t like it when no one’s keeping watch while they sleep,” Anairon explained. “Atto says they’re still not really used to Aman yet. So I stayed.”

Carnistir nodded. He could well understand that. He had seen the caution ingrained in the handful of Sindarin and Nandorin followers he’d eventually won – caution the elves of Beleriand taught their children from their earliest days. It was only sense that children begotten under the threat of Sauron would feel safer with someone on guard, even here.

“How long have they been in Aman?” he asked, keen to keep the conversation going, and guessing that Anairon left to his own devices would fumble about and let it drop.

“A little over twenty years,” Anairon replied. “So it’s been long enough to learn their way around, but not long enough yet for them to really believe they don’t need to keep watch. Well, Tindomiel might be ok without a watch, but not Tasariel or Califiriel.”

Carnistir nodded as if that made sense to him, even though it really didn’t. He wasn’t sure why Tindomiel would be confident enough without a watch when the two younger girls weren’t.

“They’ll probably sleep a while longer,” Anairon told him. “So there’s plenty of time for us to make breakfast.”

“And for you to tell me something more of yourself than simply that you are the youngest son of Uncle Nolo and Aunt Anairë,” Carnistir suggested lightly.

 “There’s really not much to tell,” Anairon shrugged. “I’m not very interesting compared to my brothers and sister. Or you. Or Tinwë.”

Carnistir suspected the boy would have added Tasariel and Califiriel to the list, given the chance - which was why he didn’t allow Anairon the time to do so.

“I already know your older brothers and sister fairly well,” he pointed out. “We grew up together. I only just met you.”

Anairon was silent for a moment, long enough that Carnistir wondered if he would get an answer or not.

“There’s still not a lot to tell,” he began reluctantly. “Atto returned a few years before I was begotten, and told Ammë that my brothers and sister weren’t likely to return anytime soon. Ammë missed them, and missed being a mother, so they begot me. According to Tindomiel I am the most sheltered elfling in the entire history of Arda, and had she known she would have sailed sooner.”

Carnistir managed not to smile at that, but it was a near thing.

“If nothing else, you’ve got a talent for succinct summations,” he snorted. “And for hiding. You told me your life history in three sentences yet absolutely nothing about you.”

Anairon looked startled.

“That was all about me,” he protested.

“No, that was about your parents, and about your best friend,” Carnistir replied. “You told me nothing about yourself. What do _you_ like? What are your interests? Where do you spend your time? What should we call you?”

His younger cousin paused for a moment, then shrugged.

“I’m not sure what I like anymore,” he said slowly. “Before Tinwë arrived, things were different. I spent most of my time at home, and sometimes I went to the academy or to Aunt Nerdanel’s. I’m not the best scholar, nothing like Nelyafinwë or Turukano or Finderato, but I’m not the worst either. I mostly read history.”

“Any particular area of interest?” Carnistir prompted, electing to ignore the boy’s almost reflexive comparison to his older cousins. It sounded as if he could do with some stories of his older kin, brothers and cousins alike, that didn’t make them out to be paragons. Well, most of them – Carnistir rather doubted _he_ was held up for his virtues.

Anairon blushed, and although his answer was quiet, it was still understandable.

“Beleriend and Eriador,” he murmured. “I wanted to know what Atto did, and what my brothers did.”

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Carnistir assured him with a frown. “Though I would think you could just _ask_ your father.”

Anairon looked down.

“He doesn’t like to talk about a lot of it,” he said, speaking more to the ground than to Carnistir. “And Uncle Ara and Cousin Finderato don’t talk much about Beleriand either. I’ve learned more from listening to Tindomiel than I have from them. She studied the First Age with her brothers and sisters. And she grew up in Eriador, so she’s seen _some_ things. Her brothers and sisters took her places.”

There was a wistfulness in his last words – and a barely concealed longing.

Carnistir had only been in Tindomiel’s company one day, but he already knew she was the baby of a tight-knit family who adored her older siblings, and the feeling was most definitely mutual, for all they were still in Endorë.

Yet Anairon had a brother who was _here_ … if anything, he would have expected it to be the other way around, with Tindomiel wistful and perhaps a touch envious of Anairon and his brother.

“What about Turvo?” he asked.

Anairon shrugged, trying for casual but not quite succeeding.

“Turukano? I don’t see him much.”

Carnistir frowned. _That_ didn’t sound right at all.

“What do you talk about when you do?”

Anairon was once again more interested in the ground.

“Nothing. We don’t really talk. I only see him if I go with Tindomiel to his city. I don’t think he wants another brother,” he admitted quietly. “He was not pleased when he returned and found… me.”

The child sounded miserable just thinking about it.

Carnistir sighed.

He’d been alive again for less than a full day and he already wanted to smack one of his cousins. Somehow he doubted this was making a positive impression on Namo if the Vala was keeping tabs on him. Though to be fair, he’d wanted to smack Turvo _before_ he’d died, too, so it was really more like picking up where he’d left off...

“Maybe he was just startled,” he suggested briskly.

Personally, he doubted it, but the boy didn’t need to know that. This trip to Turvo’s city could be quite interesting.

“Do we need to warn Aiko about any unexpected brothers?”

Anairon looked confused for a moment before he shook his head.

“No.” He paused. “Cousin Finderato has children. And Galadriel has a daughter, but I guess Tindomiel explained that already, since it’s her mother.”

It suddenly occurred to Carnistir that his baby cousin used full names for everyone older than him. He was thrown for a moment until he realized that to the boy, he, his brothers, and his cousins with the exception of Ingo were all people he’d only heard about from others. Even Galadriel was new to him if she had only lately returned.

“What of Angarato?” he asked carefully.

“Still in the Halls,” Anairon shrugged. “Tinwë is hoping he’ll return now that Aikanaro has left.”

Carnistir pondered that.

He suspected Ango wouldn’t be the only one.

Finno should be telling Aryo even now that he was no longer the youngest son. And unlike Turvo, Aryo would be thrilled to have a younger brother. He might have to reconsider his position on how well-thought Tindomiel’s plan had been.

Maybe he should also keep in mind that despite her Noldorin appearance, she was a descendant of Luthien, who’d had no problem beating Sauron on his own turf and robbing Morgoth...

“Good morning!”

The girl herself plopped down on his left.

She brandished a plump peach.

“Fresh picked,” she offered with a grin.

Anairon perked up, and caught the one she tossed him. To Carnistir’s surprise, the boy peeled the peach and proceeded to lightly salt and toast it.

“Oh, good call,” Tindomiel murmured, following suit with a second peach. “We’ve still got honey, right?”

Anairon nodded.

“And cheese,” he said. “If you’ll watch them, I’ll go find some mint, there’s sure to be some down near the stream.”

Carnistir waited.

“You can eat yours fresh if you want,” Tindomiel said cheerfully. “I definitely would if I hadn’t had a peach since the First Age! But after you have the fresh one, you should try one done like this. Anairon discovered the combination when we were camping a couple years ago, and it’s _really_ good.”

Carnistir would have asked Anairon about it, but the boy was already disappearing into a low area he hadn’t noticed the evening before.

“How often do you come here?” he asked.

“This is the first time we brought Tas and Cali,” Tindomiel replied. “But Anairon and I come pretty regularly ever since Gramma Anairë admitted we were old enough to not need someone older with us. Besides the orchards, there’s a bunch of spice groves around here. As long as we make ourselves useful, no one minds.”

“And trips to the groves of Yavanna are a much better explanation for your parents than going to visit the Halls,” Carnistir guessed, wondering just how long she’d been planning this little excursion.

She flushed slightly, but nodded.

“We really do harvest stuff or look after the plants while we’re here,” she assured him. “The last couple times, I went visiting.”

Carnistir decided not to linger on that. He wasn’t sure how she could even do what she did, but this didn’t seem like the time or the place to ask. Particularly not if Aiko happened to wake up in the middle of the conversation. He added another mark to his mental ‘don’t forget she’s a descendant of Luthien’ file, and let it drop.

“So Anairon’s a cook?” he asked.

Tindomiel’s grin was infectious, and Carnistir found himself wondering if his aunt had been like this when she was younger. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Aunt Anairë smile like that.

“He’s really good at putting together new combinations, even if they sound offbeat at first,” she explained. “But don’t make a big deal about it if he does it while you’re with us, he gets really self-conscious.”

“Why?” Carnistir wondered.

If anything, the boy should be proud. He’d be the first in the family with such a talent. All of them were competent cooks, but none of them had been innovators in the kitchen.

Tindomiel shrugged.

“Dunno,” she said. “I don’t always try to figure out his quirks. Sometimes it’s best to just roll with it. I’m kinda hoping he’ll grow out of some of it, like the self-consciousness. I got him to cook last time we went to visit your mom in Formenos, and he’s brilliant at it.”

“Ammë failed to notice his talent?” Carnistir asked with a frown. That didn’t sound like his mother at all.

Tindomiel snickered.

“Oh, she noticed. Anairon tried to say I was responsible.”

That apparently was even funnier.

“I take it that was not particularly believable?” Carnistir ventured.

“Put it this way,” Tindomiel said. “I may not wreck a kitchen like Anariel, but if I cook, everyone makes me promise to stick to the recipes and not improvise. Gramma Nerdanel _knows_ that.”

Carnistir had not watched the wreckage pile up in the wake of Ambarussa, Irissë, and Artanis for years without being able to detect at least one Story being glossed over in front of him. He’d worm out of the girl later why her culinary improv was not to be trusted. Or maybe it would be easier to tackle Anairon or the younger girls…

And in the meantime, he’d approach her cooking with appropriate caution.

“Also,” Tindomiel added in a very good faux casual, “I should probably mention that there’s a bunch of new foods since the last time you were here, and some of them are hot, so um, be careful about trying all the new stuff without checking first. If you’re not sure, ask one of us.”

Definitely a story. Probably multiple, unless Artanis’ granddaughter was considerably tamer than _she_ had been at that age.

“Laurefindil will tell you all about it,” she said blithely. “I pranked him back in Imladris and he’s never gotten over it. He went totally overprotective when I played a completely harmless food-related joke on Anairon when I first arrived.”

“What did you do?” Carnistir asked suspiciously.

“Had him convinced that watermelon seeds could grow in your stomach if you swallow one,” she grinned. “Which they can’t, and he wasn’t nearly as freaked out as Laurefindil was about it anyway.”

That wasn’t what he’d been asking, but it was illuminating all the same. Carnistir tried to look reproving, but honestly, he could see himself pranking Curvo or Ingo similarly given the chance.

“But I’m not such a jerkass that I’d do anything like that to you or Uncle Aikanaro when you’re only just back,” Tindomiel assured him. “Also, I was like fifteen at the time of the prank Laurefindil complains about so much, and it was kind of an accident that it went as far as it did. Neither of which he ever mentions when he tells the story as if I’m still dangerous nowadays.”

Carnistir’s lips quirked, but he didn’t reprove her for language. He felt like that could safely be left to his aunt.


	4. Family Matters

Aikanaro woke from a dream of Andreth. Somehow it had felt much more real than watching her in Vairë’s tapestries ever had, or even reliving his memories. She’d been urging him to do something, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was now.

He took a moment to just stare at the brilliant blue sky above him – until he registered the giggles coming from nearby.

He looked around until he spotted Moryo sitting between his grandniece Tindomiel and their cousin Anairon, both children laughing madly and elbowing him as he protested good naturedly.

He couldn’t help but smile, as the sight brought back a slew of childhood memories – camping trips, picnics, even days he and his brothers or cousins evaded their tutors and snuck off into the countryside outside Tirion to enjoy a day doing nothing in particular.

He couldn’t remember when he’d last thought on those times…

“Aiko, you lazy slug, come help!” Moryo called.

He joined them to find that the three of them were slicing peaches, and Moryo appeared to be falling behind the other two.  He snagged a slice, and savored the first taste of peach in his new life.

The other two girls, Tasariel and Califiriel were sitting opposite, one slicing cheese while the other stripped the leaves off several sprigs of mint, and appeared to be trying not to laugh at their cousins’ antics.

“You’re supposed to be helping, not eating them,” Moryo grumbled.

“Like _you_ haven’t already had an entire one,” Tindomiel snickered. “Uncle Aikanaro should get to enjoy some too before we put him to work.”

“Enough!” Moryo protested, as Aiko grinned and snagged a whole peach.

“What?” Anairon asked, puzzled.

“You young ones can’t keep calling everyone by their full names. It’s ridiculous. Right, Aiko?”

Aikanaro blinked, but nodded.

He was only Aikanaro when things were serious or someone was angry. Otherwise he was Aiko, or Aegnor if they were speaking Sindarin. (He’d been Ambo in his youth, until Ambarussa came along and that became too confusing for the babies.)

“I’m Moryo,” his cousin continued, pointing firmly at himself. “If you’ve all been politely and properly waiting for permission to use my familiar name, you have it. And if you haven’t been waiting for permission, stop being so stuffy.” 

It took some effort not to laugh at Anairon’s wide eyes, as his baby cousin looked from Moryo to him.

“As you’ve said several times yourselves, we’re all family here,” Aikanaro shrugged.

“Anairon, your oldest brother is Finno to his family,” Moryo went on. “And I can assure you he’d be very upset to discover he’s been _Findekano_ to you all this time. Turvo can stay Turukano if he’s determined to be awkward, but your other brother is Aryo to everyone, but most particularly to you.”

Anairon nodded obediently.

“So you’re Uncle Moryo and he’s Uncle Aiko?” Tindomiel asked,

“Exactly,” Moryo said firmly. “And while we’re at it, Aiko, how should we shorten _them_?”

“I’m Tinu in the Sindarin and Tinwë if we’re Quenya,” Tindomiel volunteered immediately. “Well, to everyone but Grandmother Indis and Grandmother Miriel, who have decided I’m Tindyë.”

Aikanaro doubted anyone was going to second guess _that_ – certainly not him or Moryo.

“Fine, Tinwë,” Aikanaro agreed. “The other girls already have their short forms, Tas and Cali.”

He forebore to mention that both sounded slightly odd to ears accustomed to Quenya, and while Tas might pass for Sindarin, Cali didn’t sound like any elvish tongue he recognized.

“As for Anairon…”

Aikanaro paused for thought.

“He can be Airo,” he decided. “It’s not so close to my name as to mix anyone up, and it has a good sound to it.”

Moryo nodded.

“That will do.”

“Who else has short names?” Tas asked curiously.

“Everyone,” Aikanaro replied in some astonishment. Did the children think their elders had nothing but their full names from their families constantly? “Well, everyone but Irissë, because her name was so short to begin with.”

_Rissë_ was not a particularly good name for a little girl, and _Issë_ was too generic, so his cousin had been Irissë to all and sundry. His sister, on the other hand, had been Artë to her brothers and cousins.

Moryo nodded.

“My oldest brother is Nelyo to our father and his brothers, but he’s Maitimo to the rest of us. The others are Kano, Tyelko, Curvo, and Ambarussa – or Pityo and Telvo if you like.”

A slight wrinkle of Tindomiel’s nose suggested she’d be waiting for Maitimo himself to tell her what she should call him, but Anairon looked cheered at the idea that he was being treated like one of the family, despite the Ages between him and his cousins.

“Ingo, Ango, and Artë,” Aikanaro offered, before any of the children could ask. “Though I suppose if she prefers Galadriel now, she might also want us to shorten that rather than Artanis…”

“It’s a bit late to try to convince us she’s not Artë now,” Moryo snorted.

“That’s ok, I don’t think I’m going to be using Grandmother’s nickname anytime soon,” Tindomiel said wryly. “Anairon’s free to try if he likes.”

At Anairon’s look of barely suppressed panic, she just barely managed not to laugh. Moryo didn’t hold back.

“Right,” Tindomiel sighed. “We’ll leave that for the twins when they get here. If they’re feeling daring.”

_And maybe have a running head start_ , she added silently, for his benefit. _Or they can put Anariel up to it. After dragons and balrogs, she’s got nothing to worry about from relatives. Well, except maybe rampant matchmaking. Besides, Grandmother’s so happy she didn’t get herself killed in the Ring War she can probably get away with just about_ anything _for the next couple yeni._

_My sister can’t have gotten so fearsome that she doesn’t want her young kin at ease around her_ , Aikanaro protested.

_Maybe Anairon can get away with calling her Artë_ , she replied, with a mental undertone that suggested she’d be delighted to see him try it. _He’s her cousin. I’m her granddaughter. I’ll stick with Grandmother!_

Aikanaro shook his head fondly. The girl was mostly being silly, but she really didn’t think it was appropriate for her to use _Artë._

“What are we doing with all this?” he asked, looking at the peaches and the mint, not to mention the slices of cheese that had been laid out.

“Making roasted peaches,” Anairon said happily, beginning to assemble them to his satisfaction. “We can carry a few fresh peaches, but we can carry them more easily like _this_. Once they’re roasted, we can wrap them in leaves and not have to worry about bruising them like we would fresh ones. And they’re still good once they’ve cooled, so they’ll make for a nice lunch without having to stop to make a fire.”

“Airo is quite the cook,” Moryo informed him. “We’ll eat as well with him as we would with Grandfather’s chefs.”

“Not quite _that_ good,” Anairon mumbled, blushing.

“Only cause you haven’t had as many years at it yet,” Tasariel said blithely, arranging the peaches he had already assembled so they could begin roasting while he finished the others. “You’re only just of age. Give it a few yeni, and that will be truth instead of just Cousin Moryo – or should I make you Uncle Moryo? – being nice.”

“Either will do,” Moryo shrugged. “You would do best to check with your father, he might have an opinion.”

“Cousin unless Atto says otherwise?” Califiriel suggested to her sister.

Tasariel nodded.

“Yes, I like Cousin. It sounds less like he’s lots older than us.”

“He _is_ lots older than us,” Tindomiel pointed out, though without any apparent concern. “He was born in the Years of the Trees.”

“Begotten,” Moryo interjected, not that any of the children paid much attention to the correction.

A quick brush against Tindomiel’s mind told Aikanaro that the three youngsters who had started their lives in Endorë tended to use _born_ and _begotten_ interchangeably, and Anairon had given up quibbling over the distinction fairly quickly.

“Yes, but it depends on how we count it,” Anairon said reasonably. “By year of begetting, he’s much older. But if we go by time alive, he’s younger than Aunt Findis’ daughters or even Finderato’s – I mean Ingo’s – oldest son. Sons?”

Anairon looked to be trying to figure ages as he handed the last peaches off to Tasariel.

“Aunt Findis has daughters?” Aikanaro asked. “And when were my nephews begotten?”

Moryo snorted.

“I imagine we have quite a bit of catching up to do,” he said drily. “New cousins and nephews will be the least of it.”

“Which of my nephews are older than I am?” Aikanaro demanded plaintively.

He really wanted to know!

Tindomiel and Anairon traded frowns, and Tindomiel’s fingers flicked as if she was using them for calculations.

“Uncle Gildor definitely,” Tindomiel said. “I think you’ve actually met him?”

“The baby Ingo adopted? I saw him once or twice, but I really only knew him as a child,” Aikanaro replied, trying to imagine what the charming little boy he remembered from visits to Nargothrond would look like now.

Tindomiel obligingly flashed him a glimpse of her ‘uncle’, along with three others – all of them like enough to each other that it took no particular intuition to guess that they were siblings.

“I don’t think any of the others are old enough to outdo all those Tree years,” she said thoughtfully. “But Aunt Findis’ daughters were begotten in the Second Age, so they’re older. Oh, Nana, too. And…”

“I say we let the grownups thrash who’s how old,” Tasariel cut her cousin off. “Especially since they still argue about Anariel’s age from time to time.”

Moryo frowned.

“Why would they argue about _her_ age?” he asked.

All four children glanced at one another, and Anairon turned to focusing on the roasting peaches with a single-minded intensity that silently conveyed he was removing himself from the discussion.

“It’s complicated,” Tindomiel offered after a moment or two of the younger girls looking to her to handle the question. “How ‘bout we save that topic for another day?”

“Fine,” Aikanaro agreed, before Moryo could protest. “Just so long as that isn’t your answer to everything.”

Tindomiel’s smirk said it might not be the answer to everything, but it would most definitely crop up from time to time.

Aikanaro sighed inwardly and tried to gauge just how like his sister her granddaughter might be. Artë with that particular expression hadn’t meant trouble _exactly_ , and yet…

_It is generally agreed that I’m the_ least _troublesome of my parents’ children_ , Tindomiel informed him helpfully.

She suddenly brightened.

“My _brothers_ are older than you,” she announced gleefully. “They were born early enough in the Third Age! They’re going to love it when they hear.”

“Can we go back to me having nephews, plural?” Aikanaro asked plaintively. He thought about it again. “And go over your siblings, as well.”

“Cousin Ingo has four children,” Tasariel piped up helpfully. “Gildor you know about, and Gilrod, Arador, and Artalissë were all begotten in the Third Age. They are younger than Tinu’s brothers and her oldest sister.”

“You know about Uncle Angarato, um, I mean, Ango’s son Orodreth, right?” Tindomiel asked.

“Artaresto, who we called Resto,” he nodded.

“Right… I might wait til he says ‘ok’ on that one, too,” Tindomiel said thoughtfully. “Anyway, he and Aunt Merelin had Finduilas and Gil-galad in the First Age, although I guess you know about them since they ended up in the Halls. But Gil-galad made it all the way to the end of the Second Age, which honestly seems pretty good considering…”

He suspected she meant something along the lines of ‘considering how many of our family didn’t make it through the First Age.’

“And Aunt Galadriel and Uncle Celeborn begot Celebrian, who is Tindomiel’s mother, early in the Second Age,” Califiel finished. “She married Elrond at the beginning of the Third Age. Their other children are Elrohir, Elladan, Arwen, and Anariel.”

“Arwen is the one who has married an adan,” Aikanaro said tentatively. He thought they might have covered this at some point yesterday, but while his mind and memory were both much clearer today, much of the day before was still hazy.

Tindomiel nodded, although she looked less enthused about this part of the conversation.

“That’s another discussion for later,” Anairon said with unexpected firmness, drawing a relieved look from Tindomiel.

Aikanaro wasn’t sure why that should be a sore subject, given that everyone present except Anairon either had married an adaneth, had wanted to marry an adaneth, or was the child or descendant of a union between an elf and an adan or adaneth. But he was content to save that discussion as asked.

“Furthermore, the peaches are done,” Anairon continued. “If everyone will help me wrap them, we can be on our way.”

Moryo looked at him dubiously.

“I thought you meant to roast them through,” he said carefully.

“I could do that,” Anairon agreed. “But if I wrap them tightly while they’re still warm like this, they will continue to cook for some time while we walk. They’ll be done just right and cooling by the time we’re ready for lunch.”

“Which means,” Tasariel said cheerfully, “if some of us pack up the rest of the stuff and some of us help wrap peaches, we can get going.”


	5. Finding His Feet

The sun was kissing the horizon behind them before they stopped. Not that Carnistir really minded – calling even their fastest pace over the course of the day ‘strenuous’ would have been ridiculous. Much of the time it had been little more than an amble.

All four children had taken detours to supplement Anairon’s peaches with berries, nuts, or other edibles growing nearby – and they had apparently decided it was ok to start introducing them to some of the new foods they’d held back the first night. ‘Blueberries’, despite their wholly uncreative name were quite tasty.  (His rather sarcastic comment on the name had gotten a smile from Tinwë, and an eyeroll from Aiko.)

The four young ones set up their camp quickly, but Carnistir could see that the younger girls didn’t quite match the practiced efficiency of Tinwë and Airo, whose only sticking point appeared to be how to allocate the sleep rolls and pillows now that they had to divvy them up among more people than expected.

He raised an eyebrow at Tindomiel. She might not be Artë – and thank the Valar for that – but she was definitely the ringleader of this little band.

He couldn’t help wondering if she and Anairon were this generation’s Irissë and Artanis as the younger girls had suggested with great amusement, pointing out the coincidence in their begetting dates, or if they were more Ingo and Turvo without Curvo.

Airo had the more even temper of his mother than his sister or his father - if he hadn’t known better, Carnistir would have thought he was one of Uncle Ara’s, not Uncle Nolo’s.  Oddly enough, he had a feeling Airo would have been Irissë’s darling if she were around.  He found himself regretting that the boy had missed being spoiled (and probably confused) by his free-spirited older sister.

Tinwë, on the other hand, might appear mercurial at first glance, but there was an underlying method to her madness. Dragging him and Aiko out of Mandos was not quite on par with Irissë’s wilder moments. Yet he couldn’t quite square such a spur of the moment plan with Artë either.

 _You might try just thinking of them as Airo and Tinwë,_ a quiet voice suggested. _Rather than trying to figure out who they’re most like._

He looked over to find Aiko looking at him reprovingly.

“So much for the vaunted manners of the Arafinwions,” Carnistir muttered quietly.

“The girls do it constantly,” Aiko shrugged. “It would appear that manners may also have changed somewhat in three ages.”

“Or they’re just trying whatever they think they can get away with, as children will,” Carnistir suggested wryly. “They probably figure us for soft touches.”

He suspected he himself would prove to be a rather indulgent uncle/older cousin, particularly in the face of children who didn’t have any expectations of him, and he _knew_ Aiko would be.

Aiko’s grin betrayed that he’d heard that as well, and not minded.

“Quite likely,” he replied cheerfully. “But I suspect we can be excused spoiling them after missing out on spoiling most of the others.”

Carnistir ruefully agreed.

Aiko had at least gotten to see Gildor from time to time, and known Resto as a both a child and a young man. He had probably even gotten to see Resto’s daughter from time to time, if not the son. Carnistir had missed out most of Tyelpë’s childhood, and all but a few years of his own son’s as well. None of his older brothers had begotten children before he died. (Or ‘taken in’, which seemed to be Maitimo’s preferred wording for what had happened with Eärendil Itarillion’s sons.) As far as children of the younger generations of his house went, Tindomiel was the first he’d seen as a young adult, and it wouldn’t take very long for her to be the one he’d spent the most time with.

He’d just have to trust Artë to not let him ruin her youngest grandchild with overindulgence.

“Good luck with that,” Tinwë said cheerfully, popping up at his elbow.

“You heard that?” Carnistir asked, somewhat disturbed. He hadn’t been trying to share his thought.

“I was mostly listening for Uncle Aiko, but I heard you that time,” she replied, not looking at all bothered by it.

“Why ‘good luck with that’?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“Everyone was expecting my parents to bring their children with them when they sailed, plural, but I’m the only one that turned up,” she said. “There’s a _lot_ of grandparents taking an intense interest. I don’t see how an extra uncle or two can make things much worse.”

No, not if the girl was so level-headed about it. And that also put her rambling about Aman with Anairon from time to time in a slightly different light – so much determined attention from one’s elders might well get smothering.

“You’re actually hoping it makes things better, aren’t you?” Carnistir mused.

She smiled, but it was a more cautious expression.

“Maybe,” she allowed.

“That’s all you’re willing to give me?” he snorted.

“All right, fine, I am,” she muttered.

Carnistir waited. It took slightly longer than it would have with Artë, but she did eventually give in.

“it’s just that things are so obviously not all right, and the First Age is so bloody long ago that it’s ridiculous!” she burst out.  “I thought before we got here that everyone would be back by now, but two Ages later, Grandma Eärwen is still missing half her kids, Grandmom Anairë only has two of five, and Gramma Nerdanel is missing _all_ of hers, and it’s not right! This is _Aman_. It’s one thing for Namo to say everyone heals in their own time, but he doesn’t exactly understand everything about elves.”

Carnistir could hear in her voice a reverse echo of the shock he and his kin had experienced in Beleriand. Where their imaginations (and inexperience, he could admit now) had made the Hither Shores easier to reach and rule than they had actually been, his grandniece seemed to have imagined Aman as more amazing and restorative than it was. Elves were still elves, on either side of the Sea.

But she did have a bit of a point about Namo, one he would never have dared to raise.  He couldn’t help glancing at his Arafinwion cousin, walking quite cheerfully arm in arm with the two younger girls.

For someone who had apparently been quite insistent for two full Ages that he had no desire to return to life, Aiko was taking considerable interest in his young kin now that he was face to face with them.

“Exactly,” Tinwë said solemnly. “For him to heal, he needed to see a reason he _should_ , and he never would have in there. But Namo was never going to understand the cause and effect. He knows a lot about the Music, but not much about how us Children work.”

“And me?” he asked lightly.

“More a spur of the moment thing,” she said thoughtfully. “I already told you it was more for Erestor than for you, and it was a bit for Gramma Nerdanel too. But you’re kind of growing on me. I don’t see what good you staying in there was going to do anyway. You can only sit in time out for so long before it’s just annoying.”

Carnistir snorted. She sounded like she spoke from experience. Then again, having sat in timeout as far east as one could get while still being in Beleriand for a significant chunk of the First Age, he rather agreed.

“Anyway, that wasn’t what I meant to tell you. We’re trying to decide on dinner. If you two want something besides what we had last night, we’ll need to hunt. Well, ‘we’ meaning ‘me’.”

Aiko looked slightly guilty.

“You don’t have to be responsible for the hunt alone,” he said. “Moryo and I are more than capable.”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Tinwë demanded, all wide-eyed indignance.

“Don’t the others hunt?” Carnistir asked.

He had no idea how skilled these children might be in such matters. He also was not certain how much of her huff was genuine and how much was just for show.

She shook her head.

“I can hit _targets_ , as in stationary objects,” Anairon spoke up from where he was starting a fire.

From the sounds of it, he wasn’t about to embarrass himself in front of his older cousins by claiming any more competence than he was absolutely certain of. As Tyelko’s first younger brother, Carnistir was familiar with the logic – it was better to admit not being able to hit a moving target than to say you could and risk a miss.

“We’re only just learning to shoot,” Cali announced equably, apparently speaking for her sister as well as herself.

“We are only just fifty-two,” Tas added slightly defensively.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tinwë announced briskly. “I’m oldest, the hunt is my responsibility.”

Glancing toward Anairon, Carnistir wasn’t surprised to find him making a face at her. Which of the two of them was older was not quite the topic of debate her older sister’s age apparently was, but they did often joke about it and had traded seniority seemingly at whim more than once. They’d done it often enough that he wasn’t actually sure which one of them was the older one. (He suspected that asking about it outright would just encourage them.)

“By that logic, I should go,” Carnistir spoke up. “I’m older than any of you.”

 “You can come along you want,” she shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

“Neither do you,” he replied.

“Right, hunting. We’ll be back soon,” Tinwë told the others. “Uncle Aiko, what were you hoping for?”

“Whatever is the least trouble,” Aiko answered, that slightly guilty look making a reappearance. “You really don’t need to-”

“We might have gone hunting tonight anyway,” she cut him off.  “It’s not a big deal, seriously. And I’m not sure which of my older siblings would be more insulted by you acting like I shouldn’t be able to handle this – the twins going all protective big brother, or Arwen and Anariel getting upset that you don’t think they were competent teachers.”

Carnistir gave her a minute, then pointed out the obvious.

“Dinner tonight should be an adequate demonstration of your skills,” he said drily. “You’ll be doing most of the actual hunting. It will be rather difficult for me to shoot anything without a bow. I’m reliably informed mine is underwater these days.”

Anairon gaped at him, but Tindomiel’s sense of the ridiculous got the better of her – she burst out laughing at the reminder that Beleriand was beneath the wave, and by implication most of his former possessions with it.

Once Tinwë got herself under control, she nudged Airo, and a minute later Carnistir found himself being handed a bow. It was somewhat smaller and lighter than he preferred, but he could make do. He’d had to manage with far worse than a learner’s bow on the retreat from Thargelion... no, better not to think about that.

“We’ll get the rest going while you two terrorize the local wildlife,” Anairon announced.

“Try not to shoot each other,” Aiko added helpfully, with a pointed look at Carnistir. “I’d hate to have to explain accidents to anyone’s older siblings who taught them how to shoot.”

Carnistir had a feeling he was more than matching Tindomiel’s glare, since she evidently thought the remark was directed at her instead of him. And really, it was highly unnecessary of Aiko.

The only person he’d ever shot on a hunt had been Tyelkormo. It had been non-fatal – minor, really – and more importantly, entirely intentional. (His idiot brother had fully deserved it.) But Tyelko would take it very badly if he pulled such a trick on anyone else, let alone one of his youngest kin. He had always looked out for the ‘babies’, whoever that happened to be at the moment, and had evidently taken a shine to Kano’s young granddaughter.

What’s more, it didn’t bear thinking on what Maitimo’s reaction would be if _anything_ befell Tindomiel in his presence. Or Kano’s, for that matter. Everyone seemed to forget that Fëanor and Nerdanel’s second son had a temper.

The two of them didn’t say anything as they wandered into the woods. He followed Tindomiel’s lead, since if he’d ever been here before, it had been several ages ago. But she appeared to have a fair idea where she was.

“What are we after?” Carnistir asked, trying not to be too obviously gleeful that he was in a forest in _Aman_. That he was hunting with his grandniece didn’t exactly help him keep his cool.

“Whatever we come across that isn’t too large,” she shrugged. “I think Uncle Aiko would prefer a bird, but if we spot a rabbit or two, I’ll take it.”

“Squirrel?” Carnistir suggested.

Deer would be too much for such a small group, but unless the land had altered greatly from his youth, squirrel would be plentiful and easy to find.

She wrinkled her nose.

“Too much work. There’s six of us. That’s a lot of squirrels to clean.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

Nor could he argue with Tindomiel’s skills – just a few minutes later, she got a grouse before it could even get off the ground.

“That ought to do,” she grinned. “And since I did the shooting, you get to do the field dressing.”

“I see now how this is going to go,” Carnistir grumbled, but without any real irritation.

“File it under ‘spoiling me’,” she suggested brightly.

Carnistir shook his head, but bent to his task and tried not to be unnerved at the intent way the songbirds in the trees around him seemed to be staring at him.

“Quit being creepy,” Tindomiel ordered suddenly.

He looked up, and found her speaking not to him but to the offending birds. One of them cocked a head at her, whether in reproach or confusion, he couldn’t tell.

“You can go on back. I’m fine,” she continued. “We’re all fine here. Tell whoever’s fretting that I’ve got two older kinsman fussing over me right here on the scene.”

One of the birds trilled something that definitely sounded like a question, but Carnistir wasn’t Tyelko or Pityo, so he had no idea what it was asking.

“No, we’re going to Gondolin. It was _his_ choice.”

That drew the most dubious look Carnistir had ever seen on a bird, but there was a flurry of wings as they took flight.

“My grandmother,” Tindomiel explained glumly.

“You’re telling me Artë’s figured out how to make birds do her bidding?” Carnistir demanded in consternation.

She’d been menace enough without a flock of feathered minions.

“Grandmother _Melian_ ,” she clarified.

Carnistir swallowed hard and focused on finishing up with the gamebird.

He didn’t imagine Melian the maia was overly thrilled about the idea of her youngest descendant wandering around with him. She’d know perfectly well who he was, him and his brothers…

Tindomiel snickered.

“You just heard me tell the birds we’re all fine here,” she pointed out.

“I doubt your grandmother believes that under the circumstances,” he snorted.

“Why shouldn’t she?” Tindomiel said brightly. “I have you, I have Uncle Aiko…”

“You _do_ remember where I died, right?” he asked darkly. “I’m sure she does.”

Tindomiel snorted.

“Yeah, I do. And even if she wasn’t there for it, she knows _how,_ too.”

Carnistir blinked.

“But…” he trailed off.

He’d assumed his reputation with the Sindar was just as low as Tyelko or Curvo’s – and Tindomiel’s attitude toward them was strong evidence how poorly they were thought of. (Carnistir estimated that they were somewhere lower than dirt – dirt at least had its uses.)

She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Just how dumb do you think we are?” she demanded.

“We?” he asked, confused.

“We. Thingol’s people. The Lindar of Beleriand. Sindar. Whatever you want to call us, as long as it’s not something insulting.”

He was a little thrown by her classing herself with them, even if she was Elwing Dioriel’s granddaughter.

“Don’t change the subject,” she instructed crossly.

That really just made it worse.

“I really am not like you or Aiko when it comes to osanwë,” he pointed out, doing his best to keep his voice even.

“Fine, whatever. General point: people can tell the difference between someone coming at them with a weapon trying to kill them and someone just walking into their own death with no resistance. In California, they’d have called what you did suicide by Sindar.”

He needed a minute to process all of what she’d said. The first part was the easiest, so he focused on that.

“They _knew_?” he asked in surprise.

He decided on the spot not to tell her that her ‘this is the dumbest thing I’ve heard today’ eyeroll was an inheritance from Turukano. He might mention it to his cousin. Assuming, of course, they managed to get past the wanting to slap or possibly kill each other any time soon.

“Yes, they knew. Which is why Butthead Junior and Even My Dog Thinks I Make Bad Choices are the worst elves in the world but you might grudgingly be fed if you showed up to a picnic.”

He probably should be reproving her about the name calling, but he kind of liked the one that’s obviously Tyelko. He might even use it, if his brother was ever allowed out of the Halls. From a safe distance, of course.

“The worst elves in the world? Really?”

“You’ve got any more obvious candidates?” she retorted.

He thought about it, but the only other ones he could think to offer were his father – who had been at one less kinslaying than he or his brothers, so probably not the best choice – or Irissë’s boy if some of what he heard in the Halls was correct. But he’s never been the type to get out of trouble by dumping it on younger ones, particularly younger ones not present to defend themselves. 

“I guess not,” he conceded.

“Well then,” she said, with an air of ‘that’s that.’

“Suicide by Sindar?” he asked cautiously. “And what’s California?”

Tindomiel flushed, and he suspected she was mentally kicking herself for mentioning something she hadn’t meant to bring up.

“It’s a place.” She paused. “A complicated place. Could we leave it until later?”

“A place where people use other people to kill themselves?” he asked with a frown.

“Yeah…”

Tindomiel sounded less than enthused about it, not that he blamed her. California sounded very strange indeed.

“What an odd land,” he said, more because he didn’t have anything else sensible to say to such a bizarre practice.

“You have no idea,” she muttered.

“You can tell me some other time,” Carnistir said, shaking his head. “This was the other option the four of you were trying so hard not to argue about? Gondolin or Doriath?”

“It’s not called Doriath here,” she told him briskly. “No protected border. Kind of unnecessary without Morgoth and Sauron around. But yeah, between taking you to new Gondolin and Grandpa Turukano popping a cork or risking Grandfather Thingol glaring at you the whole time and then ripping me a new one next time I visit, I would have picked the latter.”

“Glaring at _me_ and ripping _you_ a new one?” Carnistir said with a frown. “Isn’t that backwards?”

“He’s not going to throw a tantrum in front of you, and I’m not Anariel,” Tindomiel shrugged.

“You’re going to have to explain that,” Carnistir told her patiently.

“He’s not going to flip out in front of a Noldo,” Tindomiel clarified, “and unlike my sister who can do no wrong in Sindarin eyes, I’d definitely hear about bringing one of you to visit. Given the fit Thranduil pitched over haru right before the Ring War got real, I’m guessing Thingol’s thoughts about me showing up with you would be _epic_.”

Carnistir scowled.

He really didn’t like the idea that Tinwë was going to be given a hard time by her kin for retrieving him, aside from the unavoidable family outrage when they discovered her previously unknown ability to wander in and out of the Halls as she wished. _That_ at least was somewhat deserved.

Tindomiel glanced at the bird he’d just finished cleaning with a frown.

“One won’t be enough,” she said thoughtfully. “Another two, do you think? Or can we get away with just one more?”

Carnistir had to suppress a laugh. He was one of seven brothers, which meant however much Tinwë thought she knew about mischief, trouble, avoiding the same, and making excuses, he knew a bit more.

“One more will do,” Carnistir replied, “and don’t think I’m fooled by the sudden change of subject. If Thingol’s reaction would be ‘epic’ but you preferred that to Turukano, how badly do you expect he will behave?”

Tindomiel shrugged.

“Hunting and talking usually don’t go well together,” she pointed out. “Shouldn’t we get on the ‘one more bird’ thing?”

Carnistir crossed his arms and waited.

She sighed.

“I’m not sure how bad it will be. I just know it has potential to be ugly, and unlike Thingol, who will keep his cool in front of outsiders, in Gondolin, we’re all family, which means no holds barred.”

Yes, there was that.

“Does Thingol count Aiko as an outsider?” he asked cautiously.

All four Arafinwions had been booted from Doriath when Thingol learned about the Kinslaying (at that time, the _only_ one, so not yet requiring any qualifier to demarcate which.) As such, he wasn’t entirely sure where Aiko stood in this.

Tindomiel frowned.

“Don’t know. It hasn’t really come up yet. Uncle Fin- I mean, Uncle _Ingo_ – and Grandmother have both visited and he treats them as family, so Uncle Aiko should be the same, I guess. But you and Anairon and Tas and Cali are all Noldor.”

Carnistir suspected Thingol would probably term them _golodhrim_ , but he couldn’t see any point to arguing. Besides…

“Aren’t the two girls also Vanyarin? Laurefindil’s father is a Vanya.”

That drew a very unconcerned shrug.

“I’m not sure Thingol actually thinks that highly of the Vanyar either,” she grinned. “I mean, yeah, they’re not kinslayers, so there is that, but it wouldn’t help much.”

“Thingol doesn’t like the Vanyar? Perhaps I’ve been too harsh on him,” Carnistir mused.

 “All kidding aside, I’m still dubious about this whole visiting Grandpa Turukano plan,” Tindomiel added bluntly. “I haven’t been exaggerating. Given how he rants about kinslayers when there aren’t any right in front of him…”

“I didn’t think you were exaggerating,” Carnistir said reassuringly. “Your idea about bringing us back is working – certainly much better than I thought it would when we first emerged from the Halls. So give us a chance with our idea. Aiko and I know Turvo, too. And while we may not have seen him as recently as you, we knew him a bit longer.”

Carnistir didn’t mention that he might also know a thing or two she didn’t, and he made sure it was nowhere near the top of his mind. If Turvo really did ‘pop a cork’, he happened to be in possession of an excellent comeback.

But he didn’t plan on mentioning any of that in front of Tinwë or the other children. If there’s one thing he’d learned from his own childhood and early adulthood, it was that quarrels among grownups shouldn’t be allowed to spill over to the young ones.


End file.
